


Blood Red, Baby

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Consensual Kink, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, First Order Poe Dameron, Mutual Pining, Pain Kink, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: There was something about him that made you want to give into your darker desires, and not only did you give in, but you indulged.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

You hear him before you see him.

Hear his low, clearly amused chuckle. Hear his boots slap the ground beneath his feet, the timing between each step consistent, rhythmic.

Feel his hands grip your hips from behind and pull you back into his for just a second or two before he spins you around, and you’re caught so off guard you don’t even see his face when he starts to guide you backwards. Can only keep your gaze set on the collar of his stiff black uniform, on the little First Order pin he wears.

He doesn’t like that. He puts a finger under your chin while he continues to walk you backwards, doesn’t even try to tilt your head, and you hate that you look up at just that simple touch, how your eyes are instantly drawn to his. He smirks, and you’re not sure if it’s because he loves the power that he holds over you or if it’s because the submissive gleam in your eyes tightens his pants.

Probably both.

The brick is cold when your back hits it. Cold and scratchy and you lay your palms flat against it as he steps closer, effectively caging you in between his arms. He’s so close, his chest slides against yours with each inhale and exhale, and his eyes stay locked with yours, unwavering and holding a certain intensity that you can’t quite place.

“We really need to stop meeting like this, darling.”

Poe’s breath is warm when it hits your cheek, and you know your first instinct should be to push him away but it’s not. If anything you want to pull him closer, let the familiar smell of his cologne wrap around your body alongside his hands. You want to give into the insistent tugging in the pit of your stomach, the invisible rope that seems to almost tie you to him, pull you back to each other when you drift too far.

Does he feel it too? That pull?

You doubt it. Your run ins with one another is probably nothing more than a game to him.

So you decide to go with your second instinct, the one that’s telling you to push him away, but he’s already a step ahead of you, like he always fucking is, and he pins your wrists above your head before you can even think about bringing your arms up to shove at his chest.

Your third instinct. Talk back.

“Why? You like an audience?”

He laughs, forcing air out of his nose, and when he looks down you use the opportunity to swallow the lump in your throat, but you don’t get much of a reprieve before his dark eyes settle back on yours.

“I think you can answer that question for yourself. It hasn’t been that long since our last time together, don’t you remember?”

He keeps your wrists pinned with one of his hands and brings the other to your hip again. His touch is gentle, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’d missed his touch.

But he doesn’t need to know that. “I try not to.”

“Oh come on.” He moves that hand down to your ass, and you don’t flinch when he squeezes, when his nails dig into your skin. “Am I really that awful to you, sweetheart?”

“You held me captive for weeks. Three times now.”

“I’ve never hurt you, though. Everything I’ve done to you, you’ve wanted. You’ve asked for it, begged for it even.”

He smirks, and you’re sure he’s remembering you down on your knees.

You narrow your eyes, opening your mouth to bite back but you stop yourself last second, because he isn’t lying. He isn’t trying to manipulate you or gaslight you. There was something about him that made you want to give into your darker desires, and not only did you give in, but you indulged.

You’d wanted him, you still did.

When you stay quiet, he continues on.

“I’ve always given you a warm bed, clean clothes, good food. I fuck you every single night until you can’t remember your own kriffin’ name.”

The Captain takes another step closer, until his chest is flush to yours, until he’s invading your space entirely.

“Every mark, every cut, every bruise — you’ve always wanted that, darling.”

His hand travels from your ass back to your hip, and he tilts his head to the side. You swallow again, not caring that he sees your hesitance this time.

“What would General Organa think if she knew one of her best fucked a First Order Captain, let him ruin her and she _enjoyed_ it, hm?”

Words still fail you. All you can do is gnaw on your bottom lip and watch him closely, images from when he had you floating through your head. You want to ask him to do it again, to do it all over again right there in that alleyway.

You want to ask him to take you away a fourth time.

But you push those thoughts away. There were more important things on your mind.

“Why don’t you kill me?” you ask him, more than happy with yourself when your voice doesn’t falter. “Why do you always let me go?”

He seems almost perplexed by your question, at the sudden shift in topic, but his expression turns neutral again before you have time to truly decipher it.

“Why would I kill you when you do everything I want and more?”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you slowly shake your head, confusion evident in both your expression and your movements. “But I don’t tell you anything. I never give you any information or, or-”

You were getting ready to say that you’d never answered any of his questions, but then you were suddenly struck with the realization that he never asked you any to begin with.

Dameron smirks again. “Like I said, you give me everything I want.”

You can’t tell if the way your stomach flips is good or bad, can’t tell if it’s butterflies and desire or nausea and disgust.

“Well, almost everything.”

His fingers are gentle against your skin when he pushes them underneath your shirt, merely letting them sit there and feel your warmth underneath him.

“I always hope you’ll want to stay.”

Definitely butterflies.

“You wanted me to stay?”

“You have so much wasted potential. Potential I could use.”

You freeze, can feel your heart rate rise in your chest. When you finally find the ability or maybe the courage to speak again, your voice is cold, something you don’t recognize straight away.

“You want me to join the Order.”

He doesn’t want you, he wants your skill. He was only screwing you in hopes that you’d become attached to him, and fuck, you were actually starting to fall for it.

His hand flies to your face again, and this time his fingers curl around your chin, effectively holding your head in place, making sure you don’t look away from him. He knows what you’re thinking.

“Sweetheart, if that’s _all_ I wanted you for, trust me. I wouldn’t have let you walk away from me the first time.”

His words make your hair stand on end, and you start gnawing your bottom lip again, drawing his attention to your lips.

“So the only reason you let me go is because I’m a good fuck.”

“You know, it sounds _really_ shitty when you say it like that.”

“How else would you say it?”

He considers his words for a moment, tilting his head back and forth. “I would say I let you go because I know you have a secret”

You freeze again, forget how to breathe properly, and even without your tells Poe knew he was right. He leans his forehead against yours, and once again, you’re caught off guard.

“You like the darkness. You crave it.”

He touches your cheek, fingertips warm and still so gentle against your skin. He finally lets go of your wrist but you don’t dare move it.

“And you’re going to give into it, darling.”

His teeth graze your lower lip, and you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. You wonder if he can feel it too.

“I let you go because I know you’ll be back. Is it wrong to have a little fun while we wait?”

Dameron’s sentence is punctuated by his teeth sinking into your skin, and you feel your lip split under the pressure. Feel his grip on your face tighten. Feel that wet, warm crimson drip down your chin.

He pulls back before you want him too, before you can find his familiar taste over that tangy iron, but the sight you’re met with makes your knees weak.

Your blood coats his lips, and he doesn’t even try to clean them. He only smirks that damn infuriating smirk once again.

“You with me sweetheart?”

Your first instinct is to say yes. It’s the only word that seems to move through your mind in that moment.

Why deny yourself what you really truly want? Why deny yourself that power, that control? Order?

Why deny yourself him?

You want to say yes.

You should say yes.

You should give in.

But you still find yourself shaking your head, surprising both yourself as well as him, and you think you see a flash of disappointment in his brown eyes but you can’t be sure. They’re cold again.

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to push it further, and it’s something you respected him for — he had the reputation of being ruthless, brutal. Unforgiving. Never liked it when things didn’t go his way.

But he’d always been different with you. He was your enemy, and yet he’d always waited for you to say yes, would never let another person lay a finger on you when you were in his possession.

You figure it’s just because he’s so sure you’ll give in one day. And sure, that’s part of it.

 _Only_ part of it.

He isn’t about to admit that he feels that pull, that invisible rope too.

And so he only leans forward again, and you try not to make a sound when you feel his wet tongue meet your fevered skin. He cleans the blood away in one swipe and then his lips meet yours and it’s all you can do to keep yourself standing upright.

This time, it lasts longer. This time, you push past the iron and find his familiar taste, savor it against your tongue for as long as he’ll allow.

It still isn’t enough.

He steps away, and you finally, slowly let your arms drop back down to your sides, feel that smooth brick beneath your palms.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t do anything but turn on his heel and call over his shoulder as he retreats down the alleyway.

“Later, baby.”

You want to chase after him. More than anything, you want to chase after him and beg him to take you with him. You want to give in, you _want_ to.

But you’re frozen.

And when a pair of Stormtroopers come rounding the corner the second he’s out of sight, you think that maybe, taking you a fourth time had been his intention all along. So you don’t shoot, you don’t scream. You just wait.

It’s when you’re shoved to the ground and feel a swift kick to your ribs that you realize he didn’t order this.

He’d _never_ let another person lay a finger on you.


	2. Chapter 2

Poe walks through the hangar with his helmet tucked underneath his arm, his hair sweaty and disheveled from having been trapped beneath the damn thing for so long. He exhales deeply and runs his gloved hand through his curls, not bothering to look towards any of his pilots as he passes them. The only thing on his mind is getting out of his nearly suffocating flightsuit so he can jump into the ‘fresher. He can check in later, make sure nothing went amiss over the three days he was gone.

He was sure he would’ve heard from Hux if one of his pilots had decided to step out of line anyways. It’d been a relaxing three days without the General breathing down his neck. And on top of a small reprieve from Hux, the mission had been a complete success.

It had been almost perfect.

_Almost._

It would have been _absolutely_ perfect if you’d given into him.

Maybe he should’ve brought you in himself.

But the last time, he’d almost been caught. He never actually let anyone of importance know he had you, always managed to avoid Hux or Kylo and get you up to his quarters with only a few unsuspecting ‘troopers or one of his pilots seeing. No one ever thought twice of it.

But he’d gotten a little careless, and decided that he wanted to take you up against his TIE before dropping you off on whatever planet happened to be close by, and of course word of that rapidly spread throughout the base after a couple of new recruits decided to stay and watch the show.

He’d managed to play it off by telling Hux it was just a random mechanic, someone whose name he never bothered to get, and even if he hadn’t believed him he knew the General wouldn’t care enough to actually look into it.

Still, as a precaution, he’d made sure to erase his flight log and quickly got rid of those recruits.

And even though he’d gotten himself out of it without a hitch, it was still too soon to bring you back onboard without your one hundred percent compliance and commitment to the order.

He knows it’s only a matter of time. He just needs to be patient.

But fuck, he could really use the release only you seemed to be able to give him right about now.

He’s craving that little bit of light you always bring to his rather dark and dismal existence, and he’s always thought it ironic, how you chase that darkness while he lusts after your softness.

He really should have brought you back with him.

Next time.

He sighs to himself as he rounds another corner, finally stepping into the corridor housing his quarters, and Poe’s so lost in his thoughts he almost doesn’t notice the Stormtrooper standing in front of his door. His pace slows and his eyebrows furrow, but he keeps walking, forcing a neutral expression onto his face though he visibly relaxes once he’s close enough to realize who it is.

“What’s up?”

FN-2187 shuffles almost nervously, and it’s all Poe can do to not roll his eyes. The ‘trooper knows there’s no reason to be nervous around him. Poe’s never really made any friends since joining the Order all those years ago, but if he ever had to choose someone to fit the word, he’d pick him.

“Come on, spit it out. I’m kriffin’ tired, man.”

“There’s a prisoner.” He shuffles again, and Poe’s eyebrows furrow once more. “A girl from the Resistance, brought in a few days ago…”

He waits for him to continue, but when FN doesn’t, Poe sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And? What’s so important that you had to come and-”

“She hasn’t stopped asking for you,” he interrupts. “Even when she’s sleeping she says your name.”

Poe freezes, and the blood in his veins turns to ice. “What girl?”

He can’t see FN’s expression underneath his helmet, but he guesses he’s taken aback by the urgency in his tone, because the Stormtrooper actually takes a step back and stumbles over his words once he finally tries to speak again.

“What girl?” Poe asks again, his voice just a little louder than before, commanding an answer.

FN stutters again, but quickly starts rattling off a description that matched you perfectly — your hair, your eyes, the color of your skin.

It has to be you.

Poe feels like he’s going to be sick. His stomach flips and rolls and his head spins, but he pushes the feeling down, forces himself to pull himself together. He can’t afford to show weakness, ever, but especially now. Not when you’re involved, not when even a second wasted could cost you your life. He’s already wasted three days.

So instead, he quickly turns himself over to the rage that starts to bubble in his chest when he thinks about every possible thing they could have done to you, and he lets it grow and grow and grow and manifest into something so volatile and ugly, it’s something he himself almost doesn’t recognize. It’s a new kind of anger he’s never tapped into before — something almost possessive.

Sure, he’s known to be ruthless. Dangerous. He’s burned entire villages to the ground, he no longer flinches at the echoing screams that bounce off interrogation room walls. He’s taken lives as if they mean nothing.

But _this_. He’s never felt _this_ before.

You’re _his_.

How dare they touch you? How dare they _hurt_ you?

Poe throws his helmet to the ground before turning around, starting back down the corridor. He doesn’t ask FN where exactly you’re being held, doesn’t need to, because the closer he gets to the side of the ship with the holding cells and interrogation rooms, the more persistent that familiar tug in his stomach becomes.

That pull to you.

They’re going to regret laying a finger on what’s his.

* * *

You hear the door slide open with a quiet hiss, and you can no longer force yourself to even try and hold back the whimper that involuntarily leaves your lips.

Had it really been an hour already?

You’ve gotten used to the cycle, learned the pattern quickly. The two Stormtroopers who had taken you would come into your cell, stay for as long it took to deal out whatever horror they had in mind for you, then they’d let you rest for an hour. Only ever an hour — during the night while they slept, they made sure the droid watching over you took their place.

You’re beyond exhausted.

And _fuck_ , everything _hurts_.

Every bone, every muscle aches no matter how hard you try to keep your movements gentle and subtle. Your head’s pounding, your skin feels like it’s on fire. You’ve never known pain like this before.

How much longer would you be made to suffer?

When would they just end it already?

Where was Dameron? Why hadn’t he come for you?

Just the thought of him made you want to break down and sob, like you’d done so many times already, but the last time you did you’d earned yourself a jolt of electricity directly between your ribcage. Again and again and again until you’d made yourself stop asking for him.

Another thing you’d quickly learned — just shut up and take it. It wouldn’t be so bad if you just kept your fucking mouth shut.

But something you still didn’t know, another thing you’d asked in the beginning, was simply why? Why were they doing this to you? What was the point?

Just like your Captain, they’d never asked you for any sort of information. Never asked you to give up the Resistance, the location of your base. Nothing.

The only thing they seemed to want to know was whether or not you cried for Dameron like you cried for them. If you liked it when he hurt you, why didn’t you like it when they did the same?

You never felt the need to tell them that with him, you wanted it. You asked for it. _He_ asked you for permission, and respected your answer when you told him no the first few times.

Dameron never hurt you just to hurt you. He never would.

And so you focus in on that thought as you feel them move closer, use it to bring yourself just a little bit of comfort.

You’d been thinking about him a lot in the last few days.

It was hard to believe that someone who was supposed to be your enemy was now your only source of relief, the only thing that pushed you through.

_Where is he?_

You jump when you hear a loud bang, like metal colliding with metal, followed immediately by the sound of sparking wires and a small grunt and a series of beeps. It sounds like the droid. You want to look, want to see what’s going on, but you keep still, and a moment later you feel a gloved hand touch your cheek, almost delicately. You instinctively flinch away, again not able to stop yourself from whimpering.

You wait for them to smack you for it, but it never comes.

“Hey.”

You shake your head and bite down so hard on your bottom lip you taste blood. 

That voice, _his_ voice.

“Darling, hey. Look at me, open your eyes.”

You shake your head a second time. They’re just messing with you, toying with you. He’s not really there, he hasn’t come to save you.

“Look at me.”

The voice takes on that familiar, commanding tone, compelling you to open your eyes but you just can’t-

The door opens again, that small hiss you’ve come to dread effectively silencing your thoughts, and you feel your eyebrows furrow. They’d never come in separately before, and that realization finally makes you open your eyes.

You blink a few times, trying to get adjusted to the dim light in the room while simultaneously pushing your unshed tears away. With the way your face is turned, you have a perfect view of the door and the two Stormtroopers that stand there, completely frozen in their tracks.

But that hand is still on your cheek, and the way you snap your head to the opposite side is almost comical, so quick and jarring it makes your head pulsate for a moment, and you have to blink again to see straight.

Brown eyes, short graying curls, tanned skin smudged with just a bit of engine oil. It’s him. He’s here, and he’s looking right at you, paying no attention to the pair of ‘troopers and the looming threat that barged in with them. He’s not smiling, but he’s not exactly frowning either, not until his eyes trail down your body to take in each cut and bruise that marks your exposed skin. Your clothes are torn and soaked with blood. You’re trembling.

Poe loses his mind.

“Close your eyes.”

He uses that familiar tone again, the one that makes you obey without question, without any sort of hesitance.

“Good girl.”

And everything that comes next happens so quickly.

You feel his hand fall away from your face, hear his boots drift towards the door before sounds of struggle hit your ears. There’s a snap that you instantly recognize as bones breaking, followed by a hard thud that you can only assume is a body hitting the ground— the lucky one, you immediately think.

Definitely the lucky one.

There’s a single shot from a blaster that makes your heart freeze, but you hear Dameron growl just after it goes off, and hear the blaster hit the floor on the other side of the room. You hear the sound of armor colliding with the metal wall. More struggling. Screaming. You can tell that his helmet’s been ripped off.

Dameron’s asking questions, his voice so low and caustic, you only catch a few of them.

You’re able to gather that they took you because Dameron killed their friends — two young recruits who were just starting with the Order. He tells him that no one knows you’re here. He tells him they’d planned to kill you before Dameron got back from his mission, and were on their way to do so once they heard he was back onboard. They were going to leave your body in his quarters for him to find.

It made you feel just a bit better, knowing your Captain hadn’t been there at all. He hadn’t come for you because he simply didn’t know he needed to.

You tune out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear anymore, but it doesn’t last much longer anyways. There’s another series of bangs, more cracking, more screaming, then silence. Nothing but silence.

Though that doesn’t last long either.

“Don’t look.”

His voice comes from directly in front of you this time, and you don’t bother to nod or even really acknowledge him. He knows you’ll listen.

You hear him take a few steps away from you, hear the press of a button and the soft click of your shackles coming undone. You try to lift your arms but you can’t, not after they were tied down for so long. You’re sure you’ll have trouble walking, too.

Both of his hands are on your cheeks just seconds after you’re released, and he holds your head perfectly still.

“You can open your eyes, but don’t look anywhere but at me, okay sweetheart?”

“Dameron, you know it’s not gonna bother me-”

“No. Don’t look away from me. Don’t argue with me.”

That fucking tone.

You nod your head, giving yourself another second before you open your eyes again.

He’s watching you, lips turned down and dripping with his blood from the deep split in the lower one, but you can only look for so long because his eyes-

There’s something in his familiar brown eyes that is entirely unfamiliar.

Worry, maybe? Apprehension?

Is he scared?

He couldn’t be. Captain Poe Dameron didn’t get scared-

“I need to get you out of here.”

His voice wavers.

He _is_ scared.

“I, kriff, I need you to tell me where your base is.”

You immediately shake your head. “Poe, they’ll kill you.”

Neither of you flinch when his first name slips past your lips.

“I don’t care,” he says, and you can see in his eyes that he really doesn’t. All he cares about is getting you somewhere safe, somewhere you can receive medical attention. “I don’t care.”

“I _do_.”

“ _You’ll_ die if I let you stay here.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing, but quickly shut it again, an idea popping into your mind that you take a second to mull over. Poe thinks he’s won for a moment when you don’t say anything, but you respond just as he moves to lift you into his arms to carry you down to his TIE.

“I won’t if I join you.”

He freezes, looks up at you from where he’s partially kneeled before you. He quirks an eyebrow, shaking his head slowly as a small scoff leaves his lips.

“You wanna join the Order after what just happened to you? Maker, babe, that’s-”

“I want to be with you. Tell me what’s so wrong with that?”

He doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything because of course he wants to be with you too. You start to continue on when he doesn’t push back, but he beats you to it.

“You’re going to be expected to give ‘em up. Your friends, they’re all going to die.”

You shake your head. “Not if I warn Leia first.”

He curses under his breath, forces himself to rip his gaze away from you. For a second, you’re afraid he’ll say no. For a second, you think that’s fine.

But he nods before you have the chance to tell him to screw warning them. “Looks like Phasma had two traitors on her hands,” he muses with a small smirk, gesturing towards the fallen Stormtroopers behind him. “Warned the General to evacuate when they heard her best pilot switched to the dark side and beat the shit out of you for betraying the light.”

You match his expression, nodding your head. It was perfect. “Exactly.”

His smirk only deepens, and he’s just about to say something else when your hands suddenly move into his hair and tug, prompting him to stand again. He’s quiet as he watches you lean forward and swipe your tongue over his chin, cleaning the still flowing blood — just like he’d done for you days before.

And Maker, all he can do is kiss you. 

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you and he pushes past that tangy iron to find your familiar taste, savoring it for as long as you’ll allow.

This time, it’s enough.

This time, you’re _his_. 

**Author's Note:**

> how much begging does a girl have to do to get a comment around here


End file.
